


at night your body is a symphony

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Pain, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e01 Now What, F/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: House doesn't deal well with affection.





	at night your body is a symphony

**Author's Note:**

> its been years. i am still emo about cuddy kissing house's leg scar. i will never recover
> 
> for bad things happen bingo with the square "body image issues", and hc-bingo with the square "chronic illness/pain".
> 
> enjoy!

House doesn't like to think about his leg. He doesn't like to think about most parts of his body, really. He's always lived in a weird state of body-loathing, even before his infarction. It's always been simmering under the surface, a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. It's nitpicks, always— he doesn't like the veins in his hands, his brows, the crease in his forehead. It's never been anything big, until his infarction came along, like a bomb surrounded by gift wrap.

When there's a muscle missing from his leg, hating his body feels a lot more well-deserved. Normal, even. He's never been a fan of normal, but when everyone tells him that body issues are normal after such an operation, after such immense pain (both psychological and physical), he can't help but feel safe. Normal means safe, normal means okay. Normal is normal, and if he can hide under his leg to mask the decades of self-loathing and body consciousness, well. His disability is efficient like that.

But, of course, Cuddy shatters all the boundaries he's settled between himself and his body. She takes care of his wounds, of his stitches, takes care of him in a way he can't even begin to name without sounding like a fool. His belly clenches through the motions, waiting for her to motion vaguely toward his pants, for her to push and push until she can see the abomination in his leg. 

He clenches his jaw when she finally reaches for his fly. She looks up at him, asks a silent question with her stunning eyes. He can only nod, staring at the floor like that will make him escape this situation.

(He seldom lets  _ anyone _ see his scar. Wilson has only seen it a handful of times, and he makes sure all the hookers he hires see him with his pants down just barely enough for him to do anything with. No one can see it, no one would see it if he could help it. But sometimes life changes, sometimes his boss comes in right as he's about to relapse and stops him with words. With love, even.)

Cuddy doesn't say anything. He scans her expression desperately, searching for disgust or pity or distaste. All he finds is an adoration that doesn't falter in the least, her hand going up his thigh. 

He swallows audibly, stares at the floor, tries to keep himself from squirming. "C'mon, don't…" The complaint dies in his mouth.

Cuddy doesn't say you're still beautiful. Cuddy doesn't say I love you even if you're a cripple. She doesn't mark it as an exception to whatever she feels about him. She doesn't say anything, in fact. She leans in and presses a kiss to his scar before continuing on, as if she hasn't done anything transcendental.

And maybe she hasn't. But it's transcendental for House.

A sob bubbles up his throat, but he quietens it as much as he can. He digs his nails into his palms, his knuckles going white as he tries to regain control of himself. Of his emotions, of himself, of his body, of who he has become, who he is, and who he's always been. 

"House," she says after a few seconds, standing up from her kneeling position. Her eyes soften at seeing his expression, at how he's biting the inside of his cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he chokes out.

She shakes her head and pulls him into a gentle kiss. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He pauses for several seconds, not daring to look at her. The mere thought of looking at her makes him dizzy. She  _ loves _ him, she really does, even though he's an undesirable fuck-up. He doesn't quite understand it.

"You kissed my scar," he manages to say.

She blinks, tilting her head. "I'm sorry. I should've asked you if I could—"

"No," he interrupts. "I… I liked it. But." He makes a vague hand motion that he hopes she understands. "It's just…"

"I understand," she nods.

His leg  _ hurts _ right now, like the pain deriving from it isn't anywhere near enough, no, it has to add yet another layer to it. He curses internally, grabbing at Cuddy still, not daring to move so he doesn't go tumbling down pathetically. He's had it happen before, and he can't have Cuddy see him like that.

"I'm sorry. I just. Have issues. All of that."

Cuddy pulls him in for a kiss, a simple peck on the lips that doesn't devolve into anything more. "I know, House. And this won't fix all of it, or Hell, even most of it. But I want you to know that you're gorgeous. Every last bit of you."

He squeezes his eyes shut. His leg spasms. "Despite?"

"No," she says firmly. "Not  _ despite _ anything. There's nothing to ignore about you, nothing to pretend doesn't exist. Your leg is a part of you and I love all of you."

House draws in a shaky breath before leaning in close, wrapping his arms around her. "Thank you."

"I'll tell you that till the end of time," she says, "whenever you need it."

It's the promise that makes silent tears roll down his cheeks. Until the end of time. Maybe they won't last that long (he knows he won't last that long, he'll fuck up eventually), but it is still comforting. 

"Until the end of time," he echoes, voice raspy with tears.


End file.
